Gelid Air
by BrutalCheeseCakeTyrant
Summary: On a dreary rainy night, an inspiring writer in the biggest slump of his career witnesses a crime. Not wanting to miss what could be the biggest adventure of a life time he gets involved to right what he did wrong or die trying.
1. Frigid Rain

The morose rain pelted the city scape around Wesker, he intently watched through the yellow glow of the window. The rain itself slicked down his body, soaking his clothes. The freezing rain with its fat drops and the occasional wind was uncomfortable even for him, but he ignored it. He was in no race to leave. The person of interest left his sight.

Sirens blared as they searched for the problems beyond him; their cries floating to the ill begotten Heavens. He adjusted his shades, his vision was so strong he neither cared about the constant flow of water down the lens nor the darkness it must cause to a normal human being. Wesker knelt down on the railing of the fire escape to the adjoining building.

His target came into view; he clenched and re-clenched his gloved hands. The pretty Redfield girl decided to reappear, finally. His patience was starting to wear thin. If he were to be honest, he felt he had started this plan for what seemed like ages ago. In reality, it had been three days and it rained the whole time. As well the spry Redfield girl was never alone. It tried fairly on him, he was just tempted to just walk out and take her. But, no, he had to do things right.

She smiled a big toothy grin, her brownish-red hair glowed in the warm light. She grabbed a piece of platter from a blonde man. Leon Kennedy, he believed, if his intel was correct. They survived the Raccoon incident together, so it only made sense they remained in close contact.

Looking on the scene he noted a second man in the apartment. A broad shouldered man, hair a similar shade to Claire's. Chris. No question about it, the smug bastard stood in the apartment smoothing back his shaggy hair. He was laughing now as he passed on a piece of china to his sister. He'd pay, but not at this particular moment. He had gotten away in the Antarctic two months ago, but once Wesker got the right chance Chris would be pulp.

Wesker would love nothing more to go in there and snap the little prick's neck- that was not to be. He would get to lure him, in time. Right now he had to focus on getting Ms. Redfield. She would be needed dearly if the plan were to work. He didn't mind, it wasn't his first time escorting women, and this time the female in question wasn't too hard on the eyes.

With a small sigh- his breath came out in white puffs- looked to his cell phone. 10:37, a late dinner for Redfield's and friend. So, to pass the time he answered emails via the phone 'till 11:36, when he looked up the two men, finally, looked as if they were to leave. Chris with his hand on the worn copper knob, and looking happy despite the things he has seen. Wesker was fraught with anticipation, but the two buggers wouldn't leave. Too caught up in their meaningless talk.

He had followed this girl from Chinatown and back, matter of fact all over New York it seems. And the only thing separating him from her was these half-wits. He groaned, backing off the railing, opting to lean on the wall. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently.

Then it finally happened, they left. His gut un-wound, he smirked. His time was now, with all the grace of an agile cat he leaped from one fire escape to another landing lightly. Claire didn't seem to notice, she was too busy washing her dishes. He crept over being bathed by the light. Not minding it at all, his eyes adjusted. Being in the light was okay anyhow, she wouldn't see him. He wouldn't let her, and no one else would too. He was wearing all black, plus with the ability to run superfast; he could get out of sight with no problem. And the plus side of New York is most people minded their one business, but in case he wanted no witnesses.

He ducked under the ledge, Claire had turned to look out the window, eyes filled with longing. He listened for the tiniest of movements. _A mother cat and her kittens mewing behind the dumpster, cars driving by, puddles being splashed, some idiot's T.V. a tad too loud, and Claire's soft footsteps across the plush carpet to what must be the living area._

He looked up-_close_\- it was her bedroom slash living area. She laid reclined on a brown sofa bed of some sort. A ranch bottle still set on the bed; it was littered with magazines and some old recognizable clothes. _Dinner in bed; how quaint_ he thought sarcastically. She rolled over the bottle, then her face looking a bit agitated to be getting up and putting away the fresh ranch. He could understand, she had a long and hard day, he had to watch every second of it. She slumped up, then practically leaping out of bed to put away the ranch. Claire yawned stretching, her cotton pink tee riding up to show her tan stomach, a sparkling belly button ring glinted. Wesker wasn't fond of piercings on most women, but on her it was well suited.

Claire knowing nothing of her little voyager slipped out of her jeans, they went flying next to her bed. Standing now in her tight black Hip Huggers, she kept looking about until in an excited fashion found what she was looking a for-grey pair of sweat pants under her bed. She put them on, in the process taking off some unnecessary accessories. They landed on the bed side table in a very audible clunk.

In a rare scene Wesker was probably never to witness again, Claire un-did her pony; slipping the black pony tail on her wrist. Her pretty hair dusted over her sloped shoulders. She fell back on the bed, spread eagle in perfect blissful ignorance.

He smiled a wolfish grin, despite himself, he knew this job would be a fun one. Without much effort Wesker grabbed the sash, lifting it like a knife in butter. He let it shut on its own diving behind the counter.

Claire didn't even look up, he peered over the counter, listening to her breath. Nice, deep breaths. This wasn't much of a challenge; he made a face of disproval. He'd half expected her to notice. But then again, he wasn't allowed to bring much attention to himself. He stood in the tiny kitchen area, getting a better view of the sleeping girl. In the light she looked so much younger, it would be like taking a sleeping infant from the couch to her room. He crept forward making sure not to step on the loose floor boards. Heaven forbid he'd make even a creek.

He came upon the bed, her eyes flitting in the earliest stage of Rem. "Why isn't she just the sleeping angel?" His remark fell on deaf ears. It was a soft whisper in a dead apartment. He also noted the little line of drool; going down her chin, _cute._

Wesker mounted Claire's midriff. When the cold wet leather rested on her stomach her eyes shot open, he covered her mouth with a meaty hand, "Hello, sunshine."


	2. Writer's Block

_She panted, her sides aching. 'GOD WHY!' She thought to herself, 'OH GOD WHY ME!?' Kelly turned the corner. Cold sweat ran down her balmy skin, liquid fear shot through her veins. Her bladder tightened, she had to fight the biggest urge to pee. She ran down the long corridor, her leg muscles tightening and creaking in their loss of vigor. Trying all the doors; locked. There was only one left, she could hear his footsteps. Every creak wound her tighter than a drum. She whined softly and tried her luck. With the fastest speed she could muster she went to the door at the end of the hall, a slatted closet type door. She snatched the knob, trying her luck. Locked…. The footsteps stopped, a large snarl made her stomach churn. Looking back, there he was, the big bad monster. With bits and pieces of her friend in his teeth, his machete raised high. With rushing adrenaline she pulled the knob again, "HELP ME!" She bellowed, beating the door. He stepped forward, closing in on his prey. She tried to pull the slants, "OH GOD! IF SOMEONES THERE!" She glanced back again, too late. The man loomed over her with the biggest intent to kill_…

Roger Hugh looked at his work, staring at it. The man at the computer was a tall average build man with brown hair arranged in a boy-ish way. And his green-grey eyes, intelligent in every way were hidden behind his thick framed glasses. His face fixed in a perplexed form was sharp and Roman in all aspects, pointed high cheek bones, square chin, thin lips, and a long strong nose. Some would call him a Geeky type of handsome. He relaxed in his pajamas none too pleased.

He erased all of it. '_It wasn't…' _he pondered, '_good'_ is what he decided. Sighing, he looked out the window, rain. It had been raining for three days. It had been prime setting for writing material. It would've been if he could write. Or write something that was agreeable in the very least. His deadline was coming soon and this book never even touched off the ground.

He loved to write, it made him feel good to write, and when he was younger he'd say he was like Bach writing music. He could write faster than his fingers could muster. He leaned back in his beat up chair. His attention returned to his clichéd horror story. He tried to stray away from clichés and try new things that no one has ever done before. As a testament for his love of writing, but it all came out…

He bit his lip, '_bad…all my writing seems bad'._ His mother was a Romance novelist, got on New York's best sellers list. And she gave him some advice that seems good now.

'Maybe you're not a writer, not everyone is.' She didn't mean it in a bad way. She was looking out for his prospects. But as a teen he was head strong in this is what he wanted. But, right now this career got him a crappy fast food job on the side and a dinky little apartment on the top floor of an off brand Walgreens.

'_I could always go back to college and finish my Archaeology degree,'_ He thought about it for a while, it'd be better than this he marveled. He was sure his editor would have astroke when he found out he wasn't past chapter 6 in a 32 chapter novel. Water dripped from a leak somewhere in his apartment. He didn't want to see where this time, his best bet was his comics that he loved to collect. He relaxed, drawing his curtains back to see the view fully.

That's when he saw her.

Claire Redfield. That's what he heard from the grapevine at least. Moved in a month ago, he hadn't talked to her once; He was too nervous. Roger did see her from time to time. One time in an elevator, he could've talked to her, but he was just too tongue tied to say anything or approach her, so he stood there like a moron until she left. Nowadays, he's opted to look at her from a far; he gazed upon her through the window. She wouldn't see, she was too caught up in house guests, and his apartment was pitch-black minus the light from his computer which was dimming from lack of use.

She caught him looking once, all he could muster was a dumb founded wave and an idiot grin.

She waved back, a friendly smile. It only got worse when he walked away; he tripped knocking down all his work papers. He swore he heard her laugh. Roger didn't want to show his face to her after that.

At this moment, she grinned taking away dirty dishes from the strangers. Her cheeks getting rosy red from laughing and her gorgeous blue eyes sparkling in the light. Roger blushed, she sure was pretty. He looked back at his computer screen, he considered her as a muse at this point. He adjusted his glasses. Thinking, then forgot his novel all together, signing into a writing site. His life was pretty dull at this point, he belt out another chapter for a fan story.

He wrote a lot of fan things, Star Trek, Star Wars, Star Gate, X-men. He used it for practice for his real writing. Roger couldn't help it, it was sort of easy, and he was always excited for the reviews. It seemed sometimes he did it more for the reviews than the story. Which was wrong in his book, he liked to write and did it for fun. Hell, maybe it was for both.

Roger sighed it took up most of his time, having no social life was a downer. He had some friends. There was Mike from off brand Walgreens, Tim his manager from Mickey D's, Logan the blind man from down stairs. But the rest were off and married with their own lives. It made him fade in comparison. Literally, he often joked about it with friends he did see; he was paler than his milk in the fridge.

Roger brushed back his hair, wondering if one of the men were her boyfriend. The way she handled them; probably both were. '_That does it'_ he decided, _'everyone was_ getting _laid but me_.'

Being a virgin didn't help either, looking back maybe he shouldn't have taken that chastity pledged back in Sunday school so seriously.

He finished entering his chapters, waiting for responses. None would come tonight, he knew it.

Looking back over, Claire was out of sight, and the apartment seemed empty, and there was a blonde man at her window. Probably the same one from before he assumed, the man went over and crouched down in plain view of her.

_'Not a nice way to treat a guest,' _Roger thought, maybe she's one of those types. He didn't see why it wouldn't be the man, plus there was no way anyone could go on the roof. And the bottom of that particular fire escape was in desperate need of repair. There was no ladder or a set of stairs for three stories up, just two pieces of metal hanging stuck out like a sore thumb where a whole lower half once connected. It looked freakin' dangerous to even kneel down on that thing, it seemed so brittle, like it could break by just attempting to walk on it.

His fire escape was the same. One day a fire would break out and he'd be the idiot to go out, falling to his doom.

Plus, the man must've been there for a while, he looked miserable in his wet attire, and he looked desperate to get back inside.

So he felt a little bad for the man outside.

Claire walked back in view, his heart skipped a beat. This made him frustrated, closing the curtain, he wouldn't stalk her. Over the past month he felt like he had. It was his own fault, he had waited too long.

He clicked back on his story. He hadn't writers block in a long time. The longest he had it was when his step-dad died and they moved here. It took him two years to adjust from a rural setting to an urban one just to write again. That's when he started the Fan stories too, he made faces at his novel.

Nothing came from it, with a forlorn huff he looked out his window once more seeing her curtains closed. This agitated him, he had no reason to be. She wasn't his girlfriend.

He got up, deciding it would be best to go to bed. After shutting his computer lid he slid into his cot. He was going to have a long day tomorrow staring at his computer screen.


	3. Wallet

Chris Redfield flipped his phone shut replacing it in his pocket. His sister hadn't picked up; it's not like he was worried. They had stayed up with her as long as they could, but they had to leave.

He and Leon had tried to meet up with the contact. In short it was a dud, they were met with nothing but an empty alley. Chris crossed his arms and tapped his foot. It's something he felt the need to do when idle. Leon leaned on the stoop, the rain had stopped.

The air was sticky and soon it'd probably rain again. Someone was exiting the apartment complex; it was a middle aged woman. She was actually decent looking for her age: long legs, thick moussed black tresses of hair, and a shapely body hidden under a fashionable blue maxi coat. But it stopped there; her once pretty face was cover in worry lines and damage, likely from smoking. She dragged along her kid, she seemed busy listening to her little girl's demands. She kept her eyes glued to her child, meanwhile the little girl bobbed her head and gabbed what she wanted for her birthday.

"Excuse me mam," The pair walked by, but Chris caught the door in time. He held it open for Leon to shuffle in, the boy looked beat. His doleful blue eyes kept to the ground, he kept his hands in his brown leather jacket and chewed on a tooth pick, it looked like he was dragged out of the trash.

"Hey Leon," Chris caught the young man's attention, "After this," Chris walked into the building letting the door swing shut, "You get some shut eye back at the hotel?"

"You're beginning to look exhausted." Outside he could hear the soft sprinkle of rain, Leon only looked back to him pushing back his blond hair.

"Oh sorry? I don't look beautiful?" Leon chirruped, he started up the walk way to the stairs. Seeming to mind no one else who passed by, Chris walked after him.

He couldn't help but smile…_smart ass_. Chris let his mind drift to Jill and the others as he went up the stairs. They had stayed behind at D.C.; someone had to be there to deal with the feds.

"So do you think this guy has the answers we need?" Leon called from the stairwell, Chris not far behind below.

"I'm not sure," He called back, this guy might be useful or the lot of his information could be bupkis. The guy in particular was staring at Claire and company through his window last night. It wasn't anything major, but he felt he should at least check it out. To at least make sure this guy was at least someone normal. Chris bit his cheek. What if they had found her, Chris thought back when they were agonizing over where to hide everyone. Everyone thought a small town would be an easy find, everybody knows everybody. It didn't seem ideal.

With New York it seemed like a gigantic hiding spot, she didn't need to talk to anyone or leave her apartment. No contact, no trouble. In retrospect with all women and children that go missing in New York everyday it's not the best location. But Claire knows how to defend herself, she proved that.' _An alive 20-year-old freak with a knife isn't a lumbering zombie.'_ Chris began to feel immediate regret. Maybe they should've gone with a secluded location in Maine.

They reached the right floor, the smell changed from coffee grounds to soggy cardboard. Leon led the way to the door. '_Maybe it wasn't an Umbrella goon,' _Chris pondered, maybe it was just some normal stalker. He immediately cracked his knuckles, it was silly she probably was sleeping in right now. And this guy probably isn't even a pervert. Maybe he was nosey or something. The poor excuse for reassuring did nothing for Chris's gut.

"Ready?" Leon raised his gloved fist to the door.

"Born ready," He said with an agitated sigh.

* * *

Roger hung half in and out of bed, the floor felt dusty. His comforter was getting stiff. Laundry day should be coming up soon. He didn't want to get out of bed, he didn't have to go to Mickey D's today. He could hear rain again, _just a good day to write _he thought sarcastically.

_Rap rap rap_, there was a soft knock at the door. Roger jumped up from his bachelor's cot, throwing a shirt on and his tartan robe. He unlatched the door to two stern looking men. A blond and a brunette, very reasonable in height but not as tall as him.

"Hello?" Roger yawned into the back of his hand as the two men shifted in their places. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," The brunette took out a badge, flashing it at him, in all honesty he only saw a blur of gold. "We're with the Police," He leaned on Roger's door frame with an elbow. "We need to talk to you about your where bouts last night."

"I was here," Roger spanned out his arms to show off his sad dinky apartment. "May I ask why you need to ask this?" He questioned.

The men looked annoyed by his asking, "We are dealing with a string of robberies in the area, there have been a reported stalker stealing woman's panties. Sir may we take a look in your apartment?"

Roger looked at them in disbelief, "Look away officers. I doubt you'd find any panties. Women are propelled from me." He stepped away from the door letting the perplexed officers in.

They looked around for a while, flipping over some of his soggy comics and kicking away a pile of clothes. He didn't have much in his apartment, they got to his only dresser which was half empty. The blonde man came up to his laptop, he took out a handkerchief lifting open the lid. "Are you some kind of writer?" He pointed to Roger's storyboard ideas on the wall.

"Yeah," Roger kept to himself, folding his arms. He never felt so out of place, the men flipped through his documents. "So this guy..."

"Hm?" The brunette looked up.

"Has he been doin' this long?"

'_Funny'_, Roger thought, '_I never heard of this'_. He also felt nervous, for no reason what so ever. And he now realized that he hadn't even got their names.

"Yeah."

"Chris," The blond waved over Chris, letting in the light he pulled away his curtains. "A straight view of the Redfield apartment."

"So it is." Chris seemed to remark darkly.

"Did something happen to Claire?" Roger peeped.

"You know her?" Chris spun around looking dead set in Roger's eyes. They were very serious. It really scared him.

"Uh-yeah, well no. Not really I saw her though my window sometimes," _'Smooth', _Roger kicked himself. "I also said hello to her sometimes, once in an elevator. Not really a budding friendship." He let out a nervous little laugh.

"Funny how you said you met her in an elevator." He stepped away from the window, "You don't live in the same complex, so where would you two meet?"

"Around," He rubbed his head as if to recall, but he knew; it was at some mall. He was there to get slacks. No idea why she was there. But she had bags from some clothing stores and local perfume kiosks.

"Some mall, it was a few weeks ago I don't remember much. But she was nice, I hope nothing bad happened to her."

"Let's all hope that." The blonde man stepped forward, he removed a notebook from his leather jacket. "I'm sorry can you give us your name again?"

"Roger Hugh."

"Alright, looks like we're done here."

"How about the laptop?" Chris held it open in his hands.

"I prefer if you don't take that." Roger bounced up rushing over to its aid, "Here I don't want trouble just..." He searched his desk. "Have the back up," He handed the drive to the elder officer.

"Fair enough," He replaced the driver into his pocket, setting the laptop down. "Have a nice day now." He firmly grasped Roger's hand, squeezing it to Hell. He could've sworn he heard a faint crack too.

"You too sirs." Roger saw them out. He rubbed his hand for a few minutes, the pain still didn't subside; walking over to his desk he pulled the curtains. Claire's curtains were still drawn. Did he do the right thing last night. He should've called the police he bemoaned. What if that guy on the fire escape wasn't that same person he thought it was. He redrew the curtains, looking onto his apartment. He really hoped she was okay.

* * *

After a few minutes he spotted a wallet. It wasn't his, his was kind of duct taped together. This seemed to be a fresh brown bovine leather. He flipped it open, _Leon Scott Kennedy. _Obviously it was the blond detectives. Roger quickly put on street appropriate attire and headed after the police officers, if that was what they really were. The last thing he needed was being accused of stealing an officer's wallet.

The two men walked across the street to Claire's building. Leon noted Chris's set jaw, he seemed rather upset. Leon dove his hands in his pockets, nudged Chris's shoulder. "At least he wasn't our guy." They were half way across the street, the light drizzle started to become a down pour. "Just a regular Star Trek fan, harmless. Probably polishing his Princess Lea figurines."

"One. That's Star Wars-"

"I know-"

"Two. I'm not crazy about this guy staring at my sister through her window." Chris froze at the buzzer to her apartment. With a forlorn sigh he pushed it. "I just thought they really found her this time." Chris looked back at Leon. Stressed has taken a toll on Chris, if Leon was dragged through the trash; Chris was slammed into trash island and punched into worse conditions.

Leon was saddened by his desperate look. He patted his friend on the shoulder, "I'm sure she's in her apartment just fine." He squeezed his shoulder, he figured people always did that to cheer someone up. Just one good little grip and a reassuring shake, his dad did that sometimes.

"Claire, open up." He waited, "Claire?" He pressed the buzzer again, after a minute he held the button then waited. After no response he got into immediate alert. He yanked on the front door, locked. He continued to pry open the door; thumping his fist on the door in a vain attempt to get anyone's attention inside.

"Chris," Leon pulled him back after he got too rough with it. "Just wait, maybe she's asleep." Leon tried to make his voice as nice as possible. Chris brushed off Leon's hand. He tried the doorbell again.

"I highly doubt it; she was instructed to always answer."

Three minutes of this and finally someone came out. "Hey you wait'en on someone?" A very heavy set black man opened the front door.

Chris turned on his heels, "Yes, my sister. She hasn't answered her phone or been seen for a few days now. I'm just worried." He bashfully looked down, he obviously realized he might have been over reacting before.

"Which one is she?" The man asked.

"Claire Redfield, apartment six fifty." Chris grabbed his wallet showing off his I.D. to prove his sibling relation.

"All right come on in, I'll let you have the extra key to her apartment only because you're her brother. But calm down, I know family is important but you can't break my door. Understand?" He opened the door to the darkly lit lobby.

From the outside Chris and Leon could hear the hum of the laundry room in the back. They both stepped inside. "Yeah, I'm sorry." Chris gave a sheepish grin. "I suppose I'm a little over protective and I got out of hand."

"No, no it's fine." The man went behind a counter, and pulled an ungreased drawer. "If my sister Kiki went missing I'd shit a brick too." He took out a little gold key. "Do you want me to come? To call the police?" The man did give a concerning look, but they wanted as little attention as possible.

"No. No." He took the key, "Hopefully, she just over slept at a friend's house or she's just been very busy lately. But if she is missing we'll talk to you first."

Which Leon figured wasn't the truth, they would just sneak out if she wasn't there. Why would they tell this man the truth anyway? And what were they supposed to tell him? The real truth, that possibly an evil organization might've kidnapped his friend and are at this very moment turning her into some zombie freak. That'd get them arrested and having the great result of being sent to a mental institution.

"Did she go missing before?" The man pried.

Leon had heard a story of Claire running away before when she five; with her baby blanket and the world at her feet. She didn't make it past the first stop sign, big brother had to carry the crying girl home. After that she was more dedicated to her family than ever. Of course it would be much to Claire's chagrin to know Chris had told him that. But there was no other incident he had heard of. But of course...

"A few times." Chris said, people came down the steps to the front desk. Chris moved out of the way and made his way upstairs before the man could pry anymore. Hopefully the lie had been convincing enough.

They heard a "Hope you find her!" from the man as the duo climbed the steps, Chris took two at time. It was steep. '_Must fucken suck carrying groceries up these.'_ Leon had almost fallen over on himself leaving this place. At the top Chris slid towards the door, if he didn't use his hands to stop himself he would've left a Chris imprint in the wall.

Leon walked over in a calmer manner, he felt some unease in the back of his mind, but he knew she was probably slumped over in bed. Cellphone in hand; the previous caller was more than likely Sherry. The girl they saved in Raccoon City, '_one hell of a first day'_ he couldn't help think.

Chris knocked on the door, "Claire!?" He gave another soft set of raps. "It's Chris." After a few minutes he knocked again. No response, now Leon worried. Chris unlocked the door, with a slight push he let the door slowly open on its own.

Leon could visibly see Chris's whole being sink. In the small and usually cheery apartment all was dark and with no signs of life. Chris jolted to life striding his way in, throwing the curtains open. "Claire!?" He violently turned in the direction of her bed. Chris froze.

"She's not here." Chris said finally, his voice sounded well-worn and defeated.

"Are you sure she's not out?" Leon didn't know why he was thinking of a best possible outcome. Maybe he hoped for it. No one likes to have a friend kidnapped. Chris made large steps to her bed, coming back to view with Claire's cellphone.

"She wouldn't leave this behind."

Leon walked in letting the door close behind him, "Shit." He grabbed the phone, flipped it open. Full bars, a lot of her minutes un-used. Last person she called, Chris. She called to remind them of dinner. He bit the side of her cheek. "Do you think it was him?" He gestured to Mr. Hugh's direction. He looked up to see Chris in his usual idle stance.

"Probable, but not foreseeable. The guy couldn't lift fifty pounds without help, nonetheless he couldn't even take on Claire, even when playing dirty. But if he was an UBC agent he could've called someone." Chris set his jaw, in deep thought. He scratched the stubble on his chin.

"We need to start looking. I need to know who was here, if neighbors saw anyone, but first." Chris walked over to his sister's bed. "Let's see if we can get any leads in the apartment." He knelt down looking through papers: college reports, newspapers, and other miscellaneous documents.

Leon walked over to the window. The rain was getting heavier, the apartment across the way looked empty. Who the hell knows what that guy did. He looked at the fire escape on the building, rusted and in deep need of repairs.

"Well?" Chris frustrated, looked back to Leon. He held some old receipts. Not that they would be any help. Chris was tearing the apartment limb from limb for any clues.

"Sorry, just turning an idea in my head." Leon rubbed his head then decided to act on it. He grabbed the sash, lifting it with ease. He set one foot outside.

Leon put weight on the metal making it let out a horrid screech.

"What the are you doing?" Chris called.

"Seeing something." Leon slowly climbed out the window, despite its pitiful requests not to. When the young man stood up straight the escape began to vacillate in the wind.

"Get back in here." Chris poked his head through the window. "That'll fall and I can't have you break your neck." He grabbed Leon's arm.

"Wait." Leon brushed Chris off. He walked to the steps, not even putting any weight on them, the slightest touch on the first step made the whole first set of stairs fall; landing with an audible plunk. "I think that rules off the fire escape." He backed away cautiously.

"Gee, what made you think that." Chris chaffed. "Now get back in here." He grabbed Leon's sleeve tugging him back in.

"That guy's fire escape looks like it's in the same condition. So that rules out him coming down his fire escape and anyone coming up Claire's." Outside the old metal was still moaning from its rough treatment over the past few days.

"Possibly the roof," Chris popped his head out the window looking up to the sky. He ducked back in only after being thoroughly soaked. "They could've just climbed down. Even though you can't climb up the fire escape. It seems like it could hold a person if they make their visit quick and keep their footing brisk." He shut the window. "You just proved that."

"If not," He wiped his face, "It's a safe bet she let her captor in."

Chris walked past Leon to the center of the room. He clucked his tongue. "There's no one she knows here and no one we know here." He bemoaned, "She's really gone isn't she?" Without Leon's reply he went back over to her bed beginning the search all over again.

"Well? What do you have over there?"

"People magazines, Discman, Nirvana CD's, the list goes on and on..."

Leon looked towards the window again, strange that Hugh left right after they did.

"Ranch!" Chris chucked the bottle at an unsuspecting Leon. After fumbling with the catch for a bit he finally got a hold on the bottle's neck, "Could you put that away for me?" Chris called. They used two bottles last night, one was apparently got lost under the bed. Chris reached further under; pulling out a shoe box which contained her Italian Beretta from Rockfort.

"Alright," Leon stepped into the kitchen. He stopped in his step; An impressive combat knife protruded from a cabinet. "Chris!" Leon tossed the bottle to the side. Yanking the large knife out. A note was stabbed into it.

Chris ran over, "What does it say!?" He glared down at the note.

Leon looked it over: '_A Chymical Wedding Will take place soon.'_ Under neath the fancy script was the HCF logo. "A Chymical Wedding will take place soon?" Leon muttered more confused than curious. He handed the note to the older man to see if he could make sense of it.

"Wesker!" Chris hissed, hate flashed through his face. Then as soon as the realization hit him his face was pure agony, "He has her!"

"How do you know?"

"It's his hand writing." He howled, "It's his knife." He dropped down and held his hands to his face. "Who knows what he's doing to her!?"

Almost abandoning his high hopes he set the knife down. "If he has her, he'll try to bait you out." He pulled the forlorn man up. "Don't worry well find her."

"Dead."

"Alive." Leon corrected him, "We'll get all we can here. Get someone from D.C. and we'll all track them down. We've done it before." This caused Leon to smile, his mind immediately flashed to the email he got a few months ago from Claire. He was happy to hear from her after so long. He just didn't expect she'd be stuck on an island with a psychotic cross dresser with a sister complex.

"You're so young." Chris remarked flatly.

"And?" Leon shrugged. Chris gave a weak smile, grabbing the knife. He struck it down on the innocent counter; only visible thing was its hilt.

"We'll find 'em." Chris strode out with bold confidence, his vigor revamped. The man could take on the whole world if he wished it. "But first!" He began researching the apartment.

* * *

Roger finally sauntered out of his complex. He got caught up in a chat with his neighbor Mrs. Ferguson. Such a nice old lady, he helped her with groceries and got into talking about the possible rise of rent. Not a thing he'd like to discuss, but still a nice discussion regardless. Rain pelted his head; the bitter wind whipped his face. He retreated back under his apartment complex's awning.

With a wallet in his hand standing like an idiot, he waited. '_Maybe the detectives will come back soon?' _He should probably just go to a precinct and return it. With his luck they'd come back for it and he'd be out on the town with it. He shuddered at the thought of going to prison. Roger paced back and forth,_ 'maybe they won't come back for it,' _he wondered. The rain drizzled off the awning making a water curtain before him. '_It would help if that wasn't there_' Roger groaned. Some fat drops soaked through the awning which in turn dripped on his head.

He had nothing else to do, so he flipped open the wallet. Three dollars, Debit card, driver's license (from Nevada?), pictures of friends and family Roger supposed, a card to some Diner: _Emily's Diner where its home cooked and served hot! _and some key card he supposed belonged to the police department.

"Kennedy?" A soft voice cooed. It made Roger jump out of his skin. He shoved the wallet into his pocket like nothing happened.

A beautiful young woman wearing all black stepped under the awning; shaking off her umbrella. Her perfume clung to her bosom, curly red hair; full of bounce and shine framed her face. Sparkling green eyes fawned at him, while soft Anglo-Saxon features beckoned him. There was a golden pin on her lapel, two gold pills. It had HCF written underneath.

"Kennedy?" Her high voice came with a European accent, she pouted when he didn't answer; he was too stunned by her beauty to say anything.

After a moment he realized he was staring; awkwardly he averted his trance, "OH! No. I'm not Kennedy."

"Too, bad. I thought so because you had his wallet."

"I-uh was-he left it at my apartment. And I was returning it"

She rose a thin inquisitive brow, lightly running her hand up his arm. "Standing in place sure is a strange way to return something."

"They kind of left before I could catch up with them. But I expected they'd come back for it." He gestured to no one in particular.

"Make sense," She smiled. "So who are you?'

"I'm Roger. Roger Hugh." He shook her hand. "And you are?" He tried to add seduction to his voice, he didn't know if it worked. If it did she wasn't showing it.

"My name is Carpathia Brasov. And I'm here head hunting." She walked to the edge of the awning; feigning interest in Roger. "I'm here for the pharmaceutical company HCF." And that was all she said after what seemed like minutes.

They stood there waiting for someone who wasn't going to come. The wind sent chills through Roger, rain sometimes licked at his back. The street was starting to fill with water, the sky started to darken. If Roger wasn't mistaken there was thunder 8 minutes off. He looked to his watch, been out here for thirty minutes now. He was about to go inside when Carpathia bounced up. "You know what!" She chirruped.

"How about I offer you the job!?" Carpathia giggled, she pointed at him, "You don't have a job now right?"

The bold question surprised him, but he might as well not seem like a loser, "I'm kind of in between."

"In between!?" She shouted, bewildered. "Hey aren't you a writer?"

He found this odd; how would she know? "Yes, but how-?"

"I can just tell you have that air about you!" She wrapped her arms around him. "It'll be the perfect job for you! You get to travel, get big inspirations for those big stories of yours, and you'd make the BIG BUCKS!" She put her big business woman flare in those last words.

"I-I don't know..."

"Oh come on! Kennedy isn't going to want the job and we'll see him later. I'm sure of it!" She tugged him towards the street.

"I have an apartment."

"The company will take care of your expenses when you're abroad don't worry about it!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah! Come on!?" Carpathia pulled him out of the awning's protection into the wet bleak streets. A sleek black limousine with tinted windows pulled up. The door popped open but he didn't see anyone, "We'll just give you a quick interview and you'll think about it! Kay?"

He looked at those expecting eyes, within seconds his protests disappeared. "Oh-kay" He squeaked.

"Let's get inside before we get more wet!" She happily pushed him in, closing the door on them and the Big Apple for good.


	4. Employment

The Limousine was dry and toasty with a beautiful woman in front of him, which was everything Roger could ask for. He sat back looking at the beautiful debutante. Immediately, he tapped his knees unsure of what to say.

"So Roger," Carpathia smiled her red lips, redder than cherries; her eyes attentive only to him. She grabbed the clip board that was strategically placed next to her apple shaped bottom. She crossed her legs, with those daring black tights tightly wrapped around them. If she wasn't looking he'd take in those legs for days. Carpathia unwavering in his attention, pulled out a thick gold pen with the same company name and logo on her lapel. "Any immediate family?"

Roger thought about it, no one really. His father is dead, his sister Rhonda practically disowned his family when she married up; His brother Simon is also living alone in the bachelor's life (much more successful than him at it) and his mother. He blew out air, then answered nonchalantly, "Only my mother and my brother Simon. "

"Good!" She exclaimed, she scribbled more on the chart. "Your blood type?" She looked hopeful to him.

"A-positive."

She just scribbled onto the document. "Height, weight, where do you see yourself in five years?"

"6,5; 130 lbs, and hopefully written a bestselling novel and maybe a high position in this company." Roger adjusted, suddenly uncomfortable. _What did this company do anyway?_

"Do you know what this company does?" Carpathia looked up, Roger shook his head. Her expression showed that she wasn't surprised; she expected this answer.

"Pharmaceuticals."

"Pharmaceuticals?" He questioned, immediately after he felt like a dullard asking, but he didn't want a job that was boring.

"Yes, and don't worry you won't be one of our scientists, you'll have a job with more travel, course you'll need to be in tip top shape. With all that running around."

"Like a pharmaceutical rep?"

"Not exactly."

"But it'll be as just as interactive." She peeped, her mood was elevating. He would call her absolutely titillated. "Now how long can you run?"

"It's been a while, why-"

"Oh company marathons and such, you know like walks for charity; I suppose like those runs that Avon Company sponsors. For the job I'm planning for you you'll be running around, socializing, aiming for success! Now-" She froze staring at him, her cheek to cheek grin unsettled him a bit.

"Oh!" He realized she was waiting, "Like I said it's been a while, I once ran 1 K when I was a teen-"

"Good enough," She muttered, "We can work on it you know and measure how long you run, it won't be too hard." She scratched the pen onto the paper. "Are those prescription?" She pointed her gold pen at his thick rimmed glasses.

"Yes," He instinctively took them off, wiping the lens with his shirt. "I've had them since I was twelve." He stuck them back on, Carpathia began to dig in her purse; pulling out a small grey machine. It was a peculiar little thing that fit in the palm of her hand. It was a rectangle with another square its edges sloping down its back. A plastic screen jutted out of the side with a yellow bullseye type cross in the middle. He could hear the hum of the machine; a purple light popped up on her end. He could hear clicks as her fingers pressed into the grey block.

"Take them off," She came over to his side, sliding in close to him. He slid them off letting everything far away turn to fuzz. She then, with a doctor's calm, came into his view crystal clear, or just enough to see the details of her face. And to feel her breath on his neck. Carpathia grasped his jaw line; firmly holding him in place. She gazed into his eyes, intent on examining them. After minutes of this she finally held the plastic shield to his eye and a green light flicked on making Roger flinch. Or at least he would've if he could move.

"Hold still," She whispered, to herself really. The machine sounded as if it was going through its process with a deeper hum than before. Thin lights ran over his retinas going their horizontal and vertical ways. The task in itself didn't take long, she held it back a few inches. It blinked a blue light taking in its results, she smiled pleased with herself. Carpathia then repeated this process with the other eye.

"There," She grabbed the glasses tossing them behind her. "You don't need these now." She went back to her seat without another word.

He was immediately puzzled. _Didn't need them anymore the? The hell was she talking about?_ His answer came flooding in, his vision blurred. He could feel things popping and reconnecting in his head. The world spun and his vertigo was off, and all he could do was keep his head in his hands to steady himself. It didn't work.

"Don't worry the effects will wear off." He could hear the scratching of the pen, it felt like he had a hangover or at least it sounded it like it. Every stroke sounded like an explosion.

But then his vision cleared, completely. No farsighted blurs he could see her face clearly. "Stunned are you?" She sounded delighted, "Now it takes some time to get used to, but with your help HCF can create these modern miracles for everyone."

He looked around, he didn't remember the last time everything looked so good. He looked over to Carpathia, she looked better than he thought. Roger gulped, his mouth became dry, and his hands became clammy.

Wiping his hands on his pants to keep them dry; he writhed his hands together to keep busy, looking towards the ground keeping composure. She didn't notice.

"Any mental or physical ailments right now or ever in your family?"

"Nope, not now or ever. Unless you count a great great great grand cousin who died of yellow fever."

"Hm," she went on, "How much do you bench?"

"How much I bench?" He scoffed, "Nothing."

She let out a disappointed sigh, but her face gave way again; showing that she wasn't surprised. "Your social?"

"I'd rather write that down."

There was an unspoken _oh brother moment _ among all the other occupants of the limousine. Carpathia took a slip a paper and gave him the pen. He scribbled it down trying his best not to soak the slip. He handed it to her almost dropping the pen in the process.

She took out a handkerchief wiping the pen down; taking up the clipboard once more. "Have you ever used a gun before?"

"...No." He must have let the confusion filter onto his face.

"Oh! This is just a standard question! Like if you drink or do drugs," she leaned forward, "By the way! Do you do drink or do drugs?" She chirruped.

"No. Don't worry about it." He assured her. He'd be the person that freak out on the smallest hit. The last thing he needed was to chase the purple dragon.

"Last employers?"

"Mcdonalds; I worked in a Target once and I was a waiter with Apple Bee's when I was in college." He began to worry what job she was setting up for him, he had all these crappy menial jobs and yet it seems he a gave million-dollar answer.

"Perfect." She nodded, "How much math can you do?"

"All of the math you need actually, I had perfect grades in college and took advance calculus. In high school. I wasn't really a mathlete, but I really took it up." Course this was all lies and he didn't even have good grades for math in college. A strong C at best. She didn't even seem interested anyway.

"Good. Do you adapt to weather well?"

"I believe so." He didn't see any evidence against him for this. A crack of thunder boomed in the distance, and he started to watch the little rivets of water run down against the dark window. Big fat drops pattered on the roof causing Roger to relax.

"How well do you work with others?"

"Good-I work well with others," He stuttered, no one ever complained to him. Nor did he ever fight with anyone at work.

"Hm, well that seems to be all," She flipped through pages on the clipboard, "But we you still need to take a questionnaire when we get to the company building."

"When will we see Mr. Kennedy?"

"Oh due time." She shrugged, placing the clip board to the side.

"What job am I going for?"

"You'll know when we get to the facility, oh I should tell you this now. You will be taking a mandatory drug test and having a physical." She rummaged in her purse whilst telling him this. Replacing the eye machine inside and taking out a slick half mask.

"What's that for?" The doors mechanically locked, making him jump. He seemed jumpy throughout this whole conversation. He got a bad feeling in his gut, as she placed the mask over her mouth and nose. Leaving her green eyes open, he could see them go hard and calculated.

"No worries Mr. Hue," She kept her whole cheery tone of voice while her whole demeanor changed. She straightened her back. With one hand she lifted her hair, then with her other hand clicked the masked closed. She looked like any other debutante. No emotion in her face, as she pulled out another black device. It was small and looked like little perfume bottle. She held the trigger and a purple mist sprayed. "Let the gas take affect and we'll be at the facility in no time."

It happened so fast, he didn't have time to answer. He let the gas go into his nose, it smelt like nothing, but it kind of burned. Giving a numbing affect, immediately he blacked out. The last thing he felt was slamming his head into his lap.

* * *

Claire shivered, she was laying on something hard. She would try to get up, but she had no strength. Everything felt bare, but there was a thin plastic sheet draped tactically over her naked form. It didn't save her from the piercing cold. When she opened her eyes she saw nothing but darkness. She heard nothing, but some computer hums and light music; every piano clink sounded far away. Her limbs hurt, it felt like she had been prodded everywhere.

Claire wasn't ready when a small spotlight blared into her eyes. She flinched; inflicting pain in every inch of her being. "Hgn," She let out a pained whimper. It turned out she was in a stainless steel cage that was too small for her; She was stuck in the fetal position. The pain was too much to bare, she would've blacked if she moved again.

"Oh dear heart don't tell me they hurt you." Wesker hissed, all the cruelty burned in her ears. He walked up to her cage with the formality of a general. "I wouldn't want a perfect specimen like you in pain. You know what they say, no one likes damaged goods." He reached through the bars lifting her chin.

He made a face of approval, "No permanent damage so far." He purred, "But, that ugly bruise on your forehead-tsk tsk tsk." He ran his knuckles against her collar bone; he liked how it poked out, yet that bothersome white sheet covered her ample breasts.

"Just kill me." She croaked.

He laughed giving a wolfish grin, "Oh I'd love too," He put some relish into love, "But I need you. My little center piece," He traced his thumb up and down her jawline, it was to taunt her; it was working. She felt sick to her stomach.

"Plus you're a good bait." He dropped her head; it landed with a sickening thud. "Now I can get revenge against that damn brother of yours, two in one." He gave a delirious laugh. His shoes pounded out of the room, the light switched off; without anything to do she slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Chris slammed the door shut behind him, the search was futile. They found nothing else of use. She was just spirited away without so much of a '_howdoyoudo_'. Leon was trying to keep up with Chris, but he was no match for his long stride. They snuck out of Claire's complex with no problem; the land lord was knee deep with a lint epidemic in the laundry room. They were now back at the Hue guy's complex.

Chris approached the door with no other thought he kicked the door open. It was empty, abandoned probably. They probably tipped him off. "Calmed down Chris I know what you're thinking, he probably went out for something." Leon chimed in not far behind. "We just have to wait for him outside-" Leon saw the broken door, "Or you could break in." He poked a broken hinge.

"He took her. And this bastard was an informant!" Chris snapped.

"We don't know that." Leon protested.

"How do we know he didn't!?" Chris began to turn the apartment upside down. Nothing but useless shit. His mind raced through thousands of images Claire and the thousand ways she could be suffering right now.

"And is it smart to trash some guy's apartment? We don't even know if he did anything."

Chris's head bowed into his hand, "I suppose you're right." He peeked over to Roger's laptop. "Well let's take that at least." He pointed to it. What Roger gave them was probably a Trojan he thought grimly.

"Sounds good to me." Leon grabbed the laptop. Leon didn't feel like fighting Chris. It'd still be detrimental to steal an innocent rando's laptop, and he'd make sure this Hue guy would get it back.

"Well let's see if we can find anything."

"We already looked at this place he has literally nothing. Unless you count the comics."

"Yeah and I doubt a copy of She hulk will help anything." Chris sighed. He looked around the room. He kicked the first stack of comics he saw in anger.

Leon let it slide. They both exited the residence with a sort of helplessness. "So where should we start?"

"Well I'm going to call Jill and the others, we need as much help as we can get with this." Chris took out his cell. Leon only nodded in agreement.

"We need to track Wesker's movements see if he's gone to any specific bases lately," Chris dialed out Jill's number. "And we work on from there." He put the phone to his ear, they descended the steps out the door. "Jill? It's an emergency."

* * *

He woke up to the limousine coming to a smooth halt, but with little give from the breaks. They sounded wet which wasn't surprising. But something wasn't quite right, chilling really. Seriously chilling, he was freezing. His head had this minor throb, he could remember nothing. Roger shot up, and was greeted to Carpathia. She was examining her nails: blood red.

She smiled; a failed attempt at a nice warm smile, trying to mirror a mother smiling to her child but it came out hollow. "How did you sleep? I was interviewing you and after you just kind of zonked out."

"Oh," He rubbed the back of his head, "Fine I guess. Sorry, that was very rude of me." He bashfully said.

"Don't be it's a long drive." She uncrossed her legs in one lithe movement, "We're here by the way." She took out a compact then a tube of lipstick to re-apply to her already fresh face.

Roger clicked the window button, the window itself was foggy and the air that rushed in was bitter. The window stuck; it went down to a little past eye level. But, it was enough to show a nondescript grey building. Its windows were tinted black. And there was no HCF logo on the front. And snow was everywhere! There were pine trees covered in it, and the sky which coincidently matched the building: grey. It seemed like it was ready to snow again.

"Did I miss something!?"

"Calm down, just go inside the building."

"But where am I?"

"The company building." She crossed her arms like the foreign land wasn't supposed to be surprising. She looked especially annoyed when he continued on.

"Well, we're obviously not in New York! There's snow everywhere! And its freezing! Where am I?" He barked, she just stared.

"Go inside the building everything will be explained when you get inside. Do you want to be late for your physicals?" She handed him a coat.

He took the thick dark yellow coat; slipping it on, it didn't seem like he had any choice. He thanked Carpathia for the ride and opened the door. He now could see the full view of the building, it showed some tasteful topiary making seem slightly inviting. A shoveled stone path led to dark double glass doors.

Rubbing his hands together he strode his way to the door; chilled to the bone. Around him he could hear the wood land chatter, some robins chirruping out a lovely tune, rabbits making a dash, deers gracefully prancing.

His breath came out in a thick vapor. The coat wasn't exactly helping either, if he touched a man made out of ice right now he'd say that guy was warmer. He wished he asked for something more in the limousine; he could hear it go back down the drive. Its wheels crunching the snow beneath.

"Go on." Carpathia, unfazed walked up from behind. He hadn't realized he stopped in the drive searching his surroundings. He blew in his hands to warm them. "Well you'd be warmer inside." She reminded him.

He continued on to the door, grasping the metal handle; he didn't know what he'd expect. But he met a warm lobby with yellow lights gracing it. It was a cozy temperature of 70 degrees. The wood floors were lacquered making them shiny. There were plain white lounges off to both sides of the reception. In bold black letters was the HCF name in cursive and the logo above the reception.

At the reception desk was a homely black woman. She sat there typing away on a windows 95' computer. Attentive to her work, she had protruding eyes with bags underneath from years of hard work. Her red shirt looked too formal for the robust woman, no coffee or any type of stain was there. Her hair was pulled back with grey streaks here and there. A gust of wind from the open doorway caught her attention.

Roger timid in his inclinations, walked to the reception desk with Carpathia wrapped around his arm. "Abena I have a new recruit here." Carpathia gave a playful tug.

"And what's his name?" Her accent was a thick British, she grabbed Carpathia's clipboard giving her another one in return.

"Roger," She giggled, "He's up for the new job." She feverishly filled out the clipboard, like she's done it a thousand times over.

Abena made an excited 'O' with her mouth, "Well in that case you go to the door on the left. Carpathia and I will finish up here."

"Alright." Roger said without another thought, he turned towards the white double door with gold handles. This door led to a long hallway with tacky red floors. He heard Abena press a buzzer as he let the doors shut behind him.

"Recruits door at the end of the hall!" Some unknown speaker buzzed in his ear. Regardless of whether or not the man was invisible he followed the disembodied voice's commands to the end of the hall to another white door.

It was another waiting room; all white, every last inch. From the furniture to the marble white floors. The room like the last room was in was a decent temperature. But no one was in here, not even at the white desk. It was odd.

The furniture was shabbier except for that white desk; which looked like a white slab connected to the ground. The name plate on it read: Svetlana Aminev. And that was it. Two doors were next to the desk labeled in black name plates: Doctors office and Workers Distribution Station. A small white end table contained magazines, the chairs next to it were cruddy plastic school chairs with the hole at the square of your back. After taking in the room for a while, Norman finally decided to take a seat in the hard plastic chair. Glancing at the magazines he rolled his eyes and sighed glancing at the titles: Cat Fancy, Cosmo, and People.

Carpathia examined herself in her compact. The eye shadow she wore now begin to fade, sighing she removed some makeup from her purse.

Abena pounded at the keys behind her, "So do you think he'll place in anything. Looked like a weakling." Carpathia could see the tired glaze in Abena's eyes.

"He'll possibly…" She thought about it before sighing, "could get soldier sector C if he's lucky." Carpathia leaned her bottom against the desk, beginning the arduous task of applying the makeup to her lids. She roughly took the black powder from its compartment and applied it lightly to her eyes. Carpathia had finished the base before she continued, "He'll go through the standard medical and physical fitness tests. Then he'll go through conditioning and resistance." She slightly parted her lips. Applying the upper layers to her lid, she did a quick check on other aspects of her face. Her blush could be refreshed.

"That one could easily die." Abena remarked.

"Or if he fails he could be placed into a mundane worker position." Carpathia started to blend, smudging her work with expert ease. Carpathia smudged a little too far out of the perimeter of her eye, so she turned her attentions to what went wrong then turned to her friend. "Either way one more I recruited in, I just may get that raise."

"Mhm, but you'll still have to fight tooth and nail, that Kathy Greene is one competitive bastard. And doesn't death rates count against you?"

"He'll be fine." She waved it off. "He can run a mile." The two women laughed hysterically at the comment. Underneath their cheerful façade they knew he barely had a chance.

"Do you think he'll cry in the last test?"

"Who knows." Honestly she did think about it. The last test has to do with resistance and loyalty. The participant walks into a room, receives an important piece of information, then methodically gets tortured until either A) he spills the beans and fails or B) they get tired of him and he passes. But that depends if he passes the preliminary tests for their soldiers."

"I honestly think he'll break faster than a toothpick. But then again remember Stenson?" Abena rolled her eyes with Carpathia.

"Who knew that lanky man would rise from Section D to B in a day." She typed another sentence of something into the computer.

The tinkling sound of bells accompanied the chilly outdoor air which caught their attention. A higher up walked into the lobby. His large green boots squeaked on the floor. Anton Klepin was like any other greasy higher up, but worse since he had the habit of making the pretty associates stroke his hubris. Unfortunately, as of late he had targeted Carpathia to peacock around. It made her skin crawl. His designer jacket was opened so he could have the world view his expensive blue suit. His brunette hair was done in a painstakingly perfect classic crown cut. He removed his Calvin Klein sunglasses placing them in his pocket. In Carpathia's opinion this man did not have a good looking face. It reminded her of lumpy cheese and you could see the deep set age marks in his Russian face despite the obvious plastic surgery attempts to fix it.

Anton strode over to the now seething women. "Carpathia," He relished the name on his tongue, then with a bored gaze, "Abena." He turned to Carpathia draping his arm around her; blocking Abena from the squeamish woman's view.

"Hello Anton." She sighed, brushing off his arm. "I was just dropping off a new recruit, and if you excuse me I need to go to screening." She artfully skirted his moving hands.

"Such a shame," His low Russian voice murmured, she could tell he was attempting to be seductive. Carpathia averted her eyes from the white spittle on his bumpy lips. His loafers scraped the marble floors, "Here." He grabbed the East wing door for her.

Her heels echoed behind her, and she could feel his red hot gaze on her ass. She could only will herself down the hall, but she had keep a cool demeanor. Anything less than perfect, and she'd be viewed as less than competent. _'Oh the wonders of work place sexism.' _Carpathia finally got to the end of the hall. She pulled the heavy handle to the next room. The loud sounds of the office blasted her: the sounds of loud keyboards, office banter, and the sound of the printer beeping from being low on toner. It seems like a Nirvana compared to the crusty man behind her, she stepped into the immaculate office. She shut the hefty door behind her, she walked to her closed off office to prepare for her big meeting with the Boss.


End file.
